


Comfort

by jeanralphio



Category: Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-01
Updated: 2012-09-01
Packaged: 2017-11-13 08:05:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/501293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeanralphio/pseuds/jeanralphio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written Fitzgerald-style as what could be a canonical insert into the actual book (meaning I tried not to deviate from the actual plot). Onesided Nick/Gatsby, with Gatsby being thick and not getting Nick's feelings, and Nick being the eternal third wheel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort

It was not long after the party had ended, after the men and girls had said their tearful goodbyes, after sober husbands whisked their tipsy wives away, after the band had packed up and left, the echo of their harmonies still ringing through the night, that Gatsby and I found ourselves alone once again in his house. The spacious halls of the mansion remained lit, as if in some final effort to keep the celebration going, but were soon extinguished as the servants made their way up and down the rooms, silencing any last traces of the festivities that once were.

I was more than ready to take my leave for the night, as it was already well past three o’clock and I appeared to be the last guest remaining. But Gatsby had invited me to stay for a nightcap, and I, ever powerless to his charming demeanor, could not refuse. We sat in his tea-room now, a cup before each of us, reflecting my host’s sageness in staying well away from alcohol.

Gatsby looked tired, even for one who had just hosted such a late-night affair. He always seemed to have a sort of limitless vitality the later the night carried on, so that by the end, he was the liveliest in bidding his guests farewell until the next event. Today, however, his face seemed etched with traces of worry, despite the enjoyable way in which he must have spent his evening. He had left me to entertain Tom with several shockingly boring older guests while he and Daisy had sauntered off around the back, doubtlessly making the most of their time together. He may have been tired, but the anxiety I found in his face was one of a man with significantly different troubles on his mind.

I knew better than to inquire as to his current state. I tried, instead, to make idle conversation regarding the band’s performance that night.

“Oh, yes, as good as ever, naturally,” he said distractedly. “The cellist was particularly on top of his game tonight, wasn’t he? I would go as far as to say that with even their most mediocre of performances, everyone is sure to enjoy them. They’re all beside themselves with intoxication, anyway – and that is one thing any man can enjoy! The ageless message that is music.”

He seemed distracted when he talked, as if he wanted to tell me something besides the superficial banter he was forcing himself to spout. He appeared not to know how to go about saying it. We spent several more minutes filled with an unsure silence, occasionally punctuated by my halfhearted attempts at conversation. After a few minutes, however, it became apparent that we were not going to get anywhere anytime soon, and that Jay Gatsby as I knew him had long since retired for the night. 

I apologized and stood, excusing myself for having stayed until such a late hour and thanking him for the tea. “It’s quite all right,” he assured me, standing with me to accompany me to the door. I turned away from him for a moment to locate my coat, which had been strewn carelessly somewhere in the midst of the raucous party, during which one of several coat-racks had been overturned.

I started as I suddenly felt him embrace me from behind. His grip was surprisingly strong as I found myself free one moment, pulled against his chest the next. I was not quite sure what to make of this sudden act of intimacy. 

“Sorry, old sport,” he apologized meekly. I could feel his chin resting on my shoulder as his long arms squeezed my torso. “This is just for a little bit. I find myself needing… comfort.”

“Couldn’t Daisy oblige?” I responded cautiously. It was difficult to speak evenly with Gatsby draped over my back.

“Oh! No, no, you see… Daisy is precisely the reason why I need comforting.”

“Why?”

Gatsby shifted uncomfortably. “Well… you’re well aware of my feelings for Daisy, aren’t you?”

That much was painfully obvious.

“And how endlessly grateful I am at having a second chance with her. But… don’t take this the wrong way, old sport, as I may be a wholeheartedly selfish person for saying this, but… sometimes, I am not entirely sure that she loves me.”

This was news to me – the way that Daisy and Gatsby would often speak of each other was enough to be a little nauseating at times. “What makes you say that?”

“Oh, old sport,” he sighed, “if only I knew! It’s the way she looks at me, sometimes, as if she’s looking at something beyond me, something, or – God forbid! – someone else.” 

I said nothing for several moments, taking in the gravity of Gatsby’s confession. It felt wrong, somehow, to be subject to his emotions in such a startlingly intimate way. I almost felt as if I was violating Daisy’s trust – but then, I realized, she couldn’t have had much left to begin with. My thoughts were being easily distracted by the sensation of Gatsby holding me close to him, my judgment quickly becoming clouded. Unutterable words rose in my throat, then withered and fell away before I could work up the courage to say them. My body contented to leave me very flushed and very glad that my face was well outside Gatsby’s current line of vision.

“You can’t possibly imagine how it feels, old sport,” he tightened his grip around my waist and pressed his forehead to the back of my shoulder, “to be loved and feel no love in return… it truly is the worst possible feeling.”

I felt his breath brush past my neck and shivered slightly.

“Yes,” I murmured, “I know.”


End file.
